Crave: HERE! I'm HERE! Under all these throw pillows!
Hey! Ye! Come, pull your rumpus hearthside and let the flames, as a she-lion might groom her cubs, lick winter’s drear off your tattered soul! For as Frank was leaning on a twisted knob of a giant sequoia last eve, the trunk suddenly groaned open to reveal a fat peasant woman scooping meal into the gaping maws of the local Carroll Gardens yeomanry. Well, six of the local yeomanry, stacked on top of each other on one chair. Because Crave is officially the tiniest, warmest most comforting establishment/square of pavement in Brooklyn.
The theme of today’s journal entry is company: Frank mentions enjoying some Cotes du Rhone with his “friends” (perhaps last night Philibert, his trusty steed, and the Lalique crystal coq he usually places on a booster seat accross from him, were supplanted by real people). But Frank is not the only one with friends!
“That Tasmanian sea trout had silky flesh and a bevy of good company: prawn crackers, sea salt, olive oil, cauliflower, asparagus, garlic and chives.”
Well maybe they were good company THIS time but you should have seen Tasmanian Sea Trout last New Years, when prawn crackers did poppers and fell off the balcony and asparagus was making chives’ dog lick PB off his chassee. BAD NEWS, man.
Well, if you have nobody to wear a turtleneck and hold hands with, Frank has some words of support:
"When it's frigid and difficult outside, you want something warm and cozy. You want an unassuming hug of a place." Yes, Frank ACTUALLY CALLED THIS RESTAURANT A "HUG." What he actually should have said is "you're welcome, World! No no, don't worry about it, I'm just going to continue being amazing, you don't owe me anything."
Another local wench stumbles out of Crave, in Carroll Gardens.